


Abhainn Nis

by Lothiriel84



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Folklore, Gen, Historical References, Scotland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 04:54:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21350554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lothiriel84/pseuds/Lothiriel84
Summary: Then at the voice of the saint, the monster was terrified, and fled more quickly than if it had been pulled back with ropes.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	Abhainn Nis

“You should have seen him, Brother – standing right there, on the edge of the river, he invoked the name of the Lord, and commanded the beast that it should not touch another human being ever again.”

“And you say the monster slithered away? Like a serpent would?”

“Aye, Brother. It absconded to the depths of the loch behind us, and has not been seen since.”

“What about that poor monk, though? The one who was sent swimming across the river – Brother Lugne, I believe you said was his name.”

“Oh, he swore he never for one moment doubted Columba’s word, not even as the beast lunged at him, its terrifying jaws open to swallow him whole. And the heathens, they gave glory to God, and asked to be baptized in the very waters of the River Ness.”

“Very well,” he sighed, his eyes trained on the peat-dark waters rippling in the distance. “May the road rise up to meet you, my friend, until we meet again.”

Brother Adomnán bowed his head to receive the blessing, and respectfully parted company with him. It was only when he heard the footsteps receding in the distance that he let out another sigh, straightened, and slowly made his way towards the loch.

“You can come out now, you know,” he murmured, shivering ever so slightly as the icy water lapped at his toes. “Unless you really enjoy sulking at the bottom of a lake, that is.”

The murky expanse of water stood before him unchanged; he was starting to contemplate just how unpleasant an experience for his corporation diving in would be, when the waves parted to allow a dark and large shape to emerge from the depths, the faint glow of amber eyes barely discernible in the gathering dusk.

“There you are,” he said, and shook his head. “You do realise Columba’s been dead for a century, don’t you? Bit of an overreaction, if you ask me.”

The serpent glared at him, in such a way he could only assume was supposed to come across as menacing. Except it was anything but, not when you’d known him for as long as Aziraphale did, and a fond smile threatened to break on his face, even against his better intentions.

“Wasssn’t sssulking,” Crowley hissed, even as he reverted to his human form – his body, Aziraphale noticed, all covered in elaborate tattoos after the manner of Pictish people. “Just taking a nap, ‘s all.”

“Of course you were.”

“‘m not scared of Irish monks, or, or whatever.”

“I never said you were.”

“Just heavily implied it,” Crowley huffed, rivulets of waters trickling down his bare limbs as he stepped ashore. Impulsively, Aziraphale reached to unfasten the clasp that held the mantle around his neck, shrugged it off his shoulders, and held it out for Crowley to take it.

The demon eyed the proffered garment as if it might suddenly turn into a snake – a rather incongruous mental image, that one – shivered, shrugged as if to himself, and finally extended his hand. “You would slink away too, you know, if you were a demon and someone threatened to bless the entire body of water you were sitting in.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’.”

“Why were you even in the river in the first place?”

Crowley’s reply was little more than an indistinct mumble, as he fashioned the mantle around himself so that it could pass for something close enough to a tunic.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Just fancied a swim, all right?” the demon blurted out irritably, pushing his long, damp tresses back over his shoulder. “And then one of those peasants spots me, and it’s all ‘behold, the water beast’ and ‘holy man of God, please save us from the monster’. I have never been more insulted in all my life.”

Aziraphale snickered, very briefly. “And then, they tried to lure you out by feeding you that poor monk.”

“As if I’d ever eat anything that unappetising.”

“Speaking of which, there’s this tavern in Inbhir Nis I’m simply dying to try. Care to join me?”

Crowley considered him for a long moment, then gave him one of his lopsided smiles. “Sure, why not? Lead the way, Angel.”

They fell into step with one another, walking down the river in companionable silence.

**Author's Note:**

> Cf. _[Life of St. Columba](https://celt.ucc.ie/published/T201040/text063.html)_ by Adomnán of Iona.


End file.
